


On Call

by the_ragnarok



Series: Happy Endings [6]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which absence may or may not make the heart grow fonder, but it's definitely making Arthur frustrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/gifts).



> Got the idea from Sarah, who gave me this prompt as her original request for her help_japan fic. (I'm still working on that one!) So this is for her, because she's lovely and patient and it's an excellent idea. Also for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) , for the "phonesex / epistolary" square.  
> Beta'd and cheerled by anamuan and trojie. ILU GUYS. <333

It’s three AM where Arthur is, which means it’s late evening in Eames’ current part of the world. Arthur glances at his Skype icon, and resolutely doesn’t open it. Eames is working, and so is Arthur.

Well, for a given value of working that includes sniping at assholes on the internet and playing with some drafting freeware he found. They’re useful job skills, anyway.

Then a little orange pop-up window comes up, and Arthur sits a little straighter in his chair.

He scrabbles for his microphone - it's a crappy little desktop thing that came with the computer. Arthur means to get a better one soon. He slips his headphones on and clicks the chat window.

Eames' grin greets him, wide and too close on the screen. Everyone looks like an idiot on videochat, in Arthur's opinion, and Eames looks just plain goofy.

The sight of him still makes something loosen in Arthur’s chest. "Got the drop?" he says, hoping the relief doesn't come across in his voice. Hoping it does. Fuck, when did he turn into such a sap?

"Everything," Eames confirms, grinning wider yet. "God, darling, it's good to see your face."

Arthur tries not to bristle like a startled cat. "Eames," he says, squashing the urge to look around. What if they're seen, what if someone is listening in?

Eames looks like he's holding back a sigh. "Arthur," he says. "Is there anyone in the room with you?"

"Of course not," Arthur says, peeved. "I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Nor am I." Eames' face moves on the screen, shifts abruptly away - he must have put his smartphone on the dresser or something. He picks it up again (the image shuddering, flickering out then back in), and Arthur takes him in, the stupid Hawaiian shirt he's wearing, his headset making him look like a deranged cyborg operator. "Nobody's listening in, Arthur. It's safe."

"Nothing's safe," Arthur says, but it's rote, habit. He takes a brief look around, pulling the headphones out so he can walk away from the computer and do another quick sweep for bugs. He hears Eames' throaty laugh coming from his laptop's crappy speakers.

"Mmm, I did miss that arse," Eames says, and Arthur stands still.

Very purposefully, he bends over. Not from the knees. He stays down at length, making a show of running his hands over the carpet.

"No bugs here," he says, sitting back down, gratified to see Eames looking a little wild-eyed.

Eames makes a suspiciously whine-like noise. "Don't toy with me, darling." Arthur fights down a smirk.

"I have no idea what you mean," he says, straight-faced, and rearranges his papers. "Have you sent me your forms yet?" Eames knows fuck-all about the bureaucratic sides of doing semi-legal work. Arthur's not exactly an old hand at this himself, but he's good at paperwork, always was.

Eames' eyes narrow, and Arthur wonders if this was a good idea. "They're on their way."

Then the image swerves, and Arthur is treated to a first-grade view of the bulge in Eames' pants. Arthur swallows and mentally upgrades his opinion of this idea from _good_ to _excellent_.

"Oh dear." Eames' voice comes clear through his headset's microphone, and Arthur takes a moment to be proud that he insisted on investing in quality equipment. "I seem to have dropped my phone."

Arthur snorts. "That's not even remotely believable." Then he freezes, gripped by sudden doubt. "Eames, you're not recording this, are you?"

He can't see Eames' face, but Eames' sigh is obviously one of the exasperated ones. "I don't understand why you seem to think I have some sort of death wish, darling."

"You keep calling me pet names, for one thing," Arthur says, semi-distracted. He opens a new tab to google _skype privacy_. What he gets isn't particularly helpful, so he's on the verge of ending the conversation when Eames clears his throat pointedly. Arthur switches back to the conversation window.

"Arthur." Eames has turned the camera back to his face. Arthur's breath gets abruptly knocked out of him - fuck, Eames' eyes are beautiful, especially when they're looking at him like _this_. "Calm down. I'm not a techie, but I think if anyone has the access to look at your Skype conversations, then a little indiscretion is the least of our worries."

Arthur's fingers pause above the keyboard. He exhales. "Fine," he says. "But we can't record any of this." It's a reminder to himself as much as to Eames, because fuck, wouldn't it be nice? Being able to play it whenever he liked, so that the mere sight of Eames on a shitty smartphone camera wouldn't reduce him to _this_.

"Firstly, I wouldn't know how," Eames says, sounding far too patient for Arthur's peace of mind. "Secondly, we have roughly an hour before I have to split. Are we finished with the safety lecture?"

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes tightly. He opens them again, and it's Eames, smiling at him soft and fond. Arthur smiles back, helpless. "Hey."

"Hello." Eames' voice has gone quiet, intimate. "Why don't you take off your shirt, hm?"

Arthur stands up to do that, folding it and putting it away neatly. He doesn't have an iron and he has to look presentable tomorrow. The sound of Eames' breath is wonky, but Arthur can still tell it's getting a little labored.

He sits back down. "My ass again?" he says, trying for amused.

"Your back," Eames says, breathless. He licks his lips. "Your muscles - turn again, darling, if you would be so good?"

Arthur does, straddling his chair backward, leaning forward a little. "Like this?" He can't turn his head back enough to reach the mic, but Eames evidently hears him.

"Just like this," Eames says, breath catching for a moment. "Fuck, I want to touch you. Why must you be so far away?"

"Work," Arthur says.

Possibly Eames can't hear him, or maybe he's just ignoring him. "I want to run my hands down your back," he says. "And over your front. Everywhere."

"Specific."

Eames' laugh comes through, and Arthur bows his head and smiles, caught up in it. He half-turns back to the screen. "Any other requests?" Arthur's cock is heavy, throbbing in his pants, growing under Eames' attention.

"Mmm." Eames' expression is a familiar one, lust and frustration tied up together. It usually means very good things. "I'd be most appreciative if you fingered yourself for me, darling."

There's a rush of heat moving through Arthur at this, from the top of his spine right down to his balls, and he palms his cock without thinking about it. "Fuck," he says, struggling to clear his mind. "Supplies. I'll go get them."

He doesn't keep lube on him, like Eames does - and fuck, isn't that the most ridiculous reason to miss someone? - but there's complimentary lotion in the bathroom, and Arthur's good at improvising.

Eames nearly moans when Arthur takes his pants off in view of the laptop camera. Arthur grins and strokes his cock once, aiming it at Eames so it looks like he's offering it to him.

"I will suck you," Eames says, voice a dark promise. "When you come here, I will close the door after you, drop to the floor and put my mouth on you until you come."

All of a sudden, Arthur can't breathe. "Yeah?" he manages to say. "That a promise?"

"Most definitely."

Eames doesn't push him, but Arthur remembers what he said he'd do. He sits down facing his laptop and lifts his feet to rest on the table. It's awkward, balancing on the desk chair with his legs spread, but he manages, and Eames' expression is _so_ worth the effort.

"Can you see?" Arthur asks; rhetorically, it turns out, since Eames' gaze is aimed firmly downward, to where Arthur's petting slick fingers across his hole.

It's a little weird, doing it for himself. He's tried it a time or two before letting Eames fuck him, that first time, and a few times after; he's never been able to make it feel like anything more than a technical necessity. He can stick a couple of his own fingers up his ass, but it's just a means to an end.

Right now, the end is making Eames' expression stay glazed and lustful. Arthur is really strongly in favor of this.

But it seems to be failing, since Eames frowns and looks up, ignoring Arthur's fingers where they're breaching his body.

"What?" Arthur says, when it's clear Eames is not going on with the program. "Is something wrong?"

"I think that's my line." Eames' forehead creases. "You're quite clearly not enjoying yourself."

"I'll have my turn later," Arthur says, in what he hopes is a reasonable tone of voice. "Come on, I'm fucking myself with my fingers, don't you want to jerk off looking at that?"

Eames twitches at that, a sudden heat in his eyes. Arthur smirks at him. "So that's a yes?"

"Stubborn arse," Eames grumbles. He looks down briefly, then brightens. "All right, here's what. You don't enjoy fingering yourself - it's not just an isolated incident, yes? But you do enjoy when I do it."

Arthur permits himself a small nod. Eames' fingers are blunt and fierce, and they open him up like they want _in_ , which probably is part of the point.

"So let's see if I can't pass on the knowledge." Eames is using his persuasive voice, the one he uses on the tough marks. Arthur rolls his eyes to show that it doesn't work on him, and opens his legs a little wider because it really kind of does.

"All right. To begin, pull them out. Spread yourself open and look." Arthur does. It's, well, his ass. He's kind of familiar with it.

"Mm," Eames says, "see how you're all wet? That's good. And you're shutting right tight, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Eames' voice is getting to him, making his dick hard even though the physical happenings are mostly uncomfortable.

"Rub a finger across," Eames says. "Don't push in, just rub. All right?"

Arthur does. It's weird, but feels nice. Not bad. "Okay, what now?"

"Keep going," Eames says. "Until you _really_ want them inside."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, but goes on rubbing. His fingers sink a little into his hole, barely past the start of the fingernail. He can't make them go any deeper without pushing.

"Think," Eames says, encouraging. "When I do this to you - you want more, yeah? Think about angles, Arthur. Think directions."

Arthur tries, but honestly that just makes the whole thing kind of technical and unsexy. He starts pushing his fingers back in, determined. There's a goal at stake, and Arthur's very task-oriented.

"I am capable of telling when you're not enjoying yourself," Eames says, annoyingly mild.

Arthur pulls out his finger with a slick sound. Eames must have caught it, because he twitches _again_. Arthur grins. "You sure about that?"

"Positive," Eames says severely. "All right, let's try this. You're excellent at learning by example, I know that for a fact."

Then Arthur gets to stare at a view of - is that Eames' hotel-room ceiling? Looks like it - while Eames breathes into his headset and the muffled rustle of clothing announces his actions.

The picture veers around wildly when Eames picks up the phone again, and now it's showing Eames' crotch, his cock flushed and his balls ripe and heavy-looking. Arthur can feel them in his hand, almost, a phantom weight.

Some more muffled sounds, then, ones Arthur can't make out, and then Eames' left hand shows in the picture, fingers shiny-wet. Arthur swallows. "Fuck," he says, voice gone suddenly thick.

"Yes, quite right," Eames says, distracted. Then his fingers push at his hole, and Arthur needs to touch himself right now or he'll die.

Eames' moans come through beautifully as he touches himself, cock bobbing as he thrusts up toward his hand. Arthur's half-surprised to realize that he's talking - issuing instructions, actually.

"Fuck, yeah. Deeper. Give yourself another finger, Eames, I want to see you all stretched out."

Another finger goes in. From the sounds Eames is making, he's not at all opposed to it.

Arthur pulls on his cock, achingly hard in his own hand. "I'm going to fuck you," he says, incapable of holding back. "When I come over, I'm going to pin you down and make you suck me. And then I'll fuck you."

"I hate to tell you." Eames sounds choked. "But. Your refractory period - " He angles his hand, aims and _pushes_ inside, and all but wails, " _Arthur!_ "

"I will," Arthur says, hand flying over his cock. "I don't care if I have to tie you to the bed until I get to it, but I want your mouth and I want your ass and I'm having both - Eames, are three fingers enough?" Arthur forces his hand to slow down, grits his teeth. "Don't you want more?"

Eames' dick juts up, hard and untouched. Eames pulls his finger out slowly, giving Arthur a show. "Yeah," Eames breathes out. "Fuck, yeah."

"You've got something, right?" Arthur's heart is hammering in his chest. He _needs_ to fuck Eames, needs to pin him down to the bed and just _grind_ until they both come. "You've got something to fuck yourself with, if I know you."

The image moves, and Arthur catches a glimpse of Eames' face, flushed and grinning wide. Then everything settles again, and there's something large and bright orange pressing into Eames' hole.

The dildo is fucking ugly, but Arthur doesn't give a shit about that right now. It's stretching Eames open and filling him up, which is what Arthur wants done.

"Yeah," he says, voice low. "Put your hand on your cock, Eames, fuck yourself - "

He has no idea what he's saying after that, only that it's making Eames swear and cry out, and then go silent as he bucks into his hand and shoots come into the air. The image gets shaky, and then suddenly dark, and Arthur's left blinking at his screen and clutching his cock.

Arthur can still hear heavy breathing, though. "Eames?"

It takes a few moments before Eames replies, with a heavy, drawled-out, "Yeah?"

"Eames." He fights to keep his voice even, to breathe. "Tell me - "

"Darling." Eames' voice is soft and dark. "I can hear it when you touch yourself, did you know? Your hand on your cock, all slick. Do it for me, will you?"

And Arthur does, Arthur jerks himself to the slow hypnotic drawl of Eames' voice, sobbing once as he comes into his own hand.

"I wish you were here," Arthur says, as soon as his breathing's even out again. _To suck me off,_ he means to add, but he inconveniently runs out of words just at the wrong moment. It doesn't matter. They both know he means it just as it is.

They stay quiet for a little while longer, listening to the small living sounds from the other end of the line.


End file.
